


dark red bloodstreams

by likecharity



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Dark, Drug Use, Fanmix, M/M, References to attempted suicide, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Includes 16 songs and ficlets.</p>
    </blockquote>





	dark red bloodstreams

**Author's Note:**

> Includes 16 songs and ficlets.

  


> **01.** _[reid]_  
>  your head will collapse  
>  when there's nothing in it  
>  and you'll ask yourself  
>  where is my mind?  
>  **— the pixies; where is my mind?** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?as669yw5yinfa6d)]

He's smarter than this. He's so, so much smarter than this. Every part of his rational brain knows that this is a bad idea, tells him to walk away from it before it gets worse, tells him he's not as responsible as he feels and that nobody can fix Nathan and _he_ sure as hell can't and that the kid isn't his problem and this isn't even a case anymore and there's nothing he can do—

But then Nathan looks at him, really looks at him, and it's like he can see all the way inside. And he has sad eyes and nervous hands and a voice that still quivers with uncertainty, and Reid just wants to look after him. Wants to make things better.

It almost doesn't matter that he can't.

> **02.** _[reid → nathan]_  
>  i'm sick of feeling sick and not throwing up  
>  and you sit in my stomach and you seem to be stuck  
>  and it won't work its way through my guts  
>  and just go away  
>  **— frightened rabbit; the greys** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?mx1gt6euydle0ey)]

The team knows, right from the start. Nathan comes by the office shortly after his release from the institution—that's how he puts it when there are others around; later, in private, he tells Reid that he turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago and he left because he could, because it really didn't feel like it was doing him much good anyway.

He looks much the same, just taller, and it's a shock to Reid's system to see him so suddenly, unexpectedly, after all this time. He thinks about Nathan a lot, but he never allowed himself to keep in contact with the kid. Tried to write him a letter once, and Garcia found the draft of it in a notebook he lent her, and she shook her head at him a lot and looked somehow stern and sympathetic at once, and said "No, no. Not a good idea. You've gotta let him go."

He couldn't, though. He never has.

Now, Nathan asks if he wants to get some coffee sometime, and Reid agrees. And when Nathan leaves, Reid says, "Gideon said it was only a matter of time," out loud, but more to himself than anybody else, and so it surprises him when he hears Hotch's voice come back to him in response—"Only a matter of time until what?"

"Until Nathan kills somebody." Reid says it quietly, distantly. It's a sentence he's repeated over and over in his own mind, but he's never said it aloud before.

Hotch's response is quiet, too. Thoughtful. He waits a moment before he says anything at all, and then—"Gideon wasn't always right."

> **03.** _[reid]_  
>  and i cannot say that i was not warned or was misled  
>  and when it comes it will feel like a kiss  
>  **— bloc party; talons** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?kh2xokg9m76vny6)]

He can't trick his own mind like this. He can pretend to miss the signs and try and fool himself that he's doing the right thing, or at least that he's not doing anything _wrong_ , but deep down (of course) he knows exactly what he's doing, and how much of a bad idea it is. He sees every point at which he could (should) turn back, say "no", put a stop to this. He sees these points, he considers them, and he passes them by.

This is how Nathan starts spending the night at Reid's apartment. 

Turning up in the middle of the night, cold and weary from walking so far (and how can Reid turn him away, really?)—Reid offers him the sofa. And then, crying out in his sleep, waking up in the early hours of the morning sweat-sodden and haunted by nightmares (and how can Reid ignore it, when he knows exactly how it feels?)—Reid offers him the bed.

Nathan peels off his t-shirt and trousers (too hot, sleeping in his clothes, especially with the nightmares—how can Reid argue with that?) and climbs tentatively into Reid's bed, and Reid has never shared this bed with anybody before and he can sense Nathan's weight on the mattress beside him, sense Nathan's eyes boring holes in his back as he lies facing the wall, and he is hyperaware of everything everything _everything_ , jumping when the hot skin of Nathan's shin brushes against him beneath the covers. 

It takes a long time for him to be able to sleep at all; many times he just lies wide awake and listening to the kid's breathing until his alarm goes off and shakes him out of it. And then he gets up, dresses quietly, gets his gun from the bedside table, scribbles Nathan a note and leaves him a key and then _goes_. Pausing (for too long) to look at Nathan and marvel at seeing someone else curled up beneath his sheets, to notice whether Nathan is sleeping peacefully or fitfully, whether he has the duvet fisted in one hand or his fingernails clawing at the undersheets or if he's just still, quiet, all steady gentle breathing and slightly parted lips.

At work, they tease him about the dark circles under his eyes, tease him about getting lucky and how she must've kept him up all night—at first. And then their jokes grow into quiet concern and Reid starts avoiding eye contact and it feels just like drug addiction again, all secrets and showing up late in the mornings—

And then it becomes routine. Reid sleeps. And not only that, but he sleeps _well_ , better than he has in a long time. His own nightmares diminish with Nathan curled up beside him (and later, against him, limbs intertwining as they sleep). In some ways, Reid thinks that makes everything worse.

> **04.** _[nathan → reid]_  
>  it might be to me or to you  
>  just let me do what i need to  
>  **— the dead weather; the difference between us** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?8cwdrvbq548h743)]

Reid is not surprised to discover that the scars on Nathan's wrists from his suicide attempt are not the only ones of their kind. Nathan always undresses hurriedly, facing away from Reid with his head ducked in something like shame, and quick to get under the covers. Reid just thought the kid was modest, shy, but then one night he caught a glimpse of the neat white welts that line Nathan's thighs, and he thought that if he'd ever tried, he might have profiled this. Nathan has a hunger for it—for knives and blood and pain—and he'll express his urges any way he can.

He starts cutting himself again only a few weeks after he starts sleeping over at Reid's. Reid comes home early from work one day to find Nathan in the bathroom looking like a deer in the headlights, blood on his hands and spattered on Reid's white tiles. At first, before Reid's brain has really had a chance to process it, he panics and thinks Nathan has snapped, killed somebody, and then he registers the wads of toilet paper that Nathan is clutching to his thighs and he leaps into action.

It's easier to focus on his first-aid kit and all of his biological, medical knowledge, and he gets wrapped up in it, muttering non-stop to Nathan about femoral arteries and clotting. Nathan is silent and pliant, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his legs bent and spread, Reid kneeling between them as he works. Feeling the slick heat of Nathan's blood against his fingers is not new, almost _familiar_ , and Reid tries not to think about that and bites back tears and tries to forcefully detach himself from this emotionally, and then—

"Have you ever done it?" Nathan asks, cautious, his voice small.

"No," Reid says, shortly, snipping off a piece of gauze and trying not to let his hands shake. But he catches Nathan's eye, and the boy looks so lost and hurt and alone that he can't not; this _urge_ wells up inside him like a wave, a need to comfort and sympathise. He takes a deep breath. "I wanted to."

"Yeah?"

"When—when I was trying to come off the Dilaudid—" because he has told Nathan about the Dilaudid, reluctant at first and then full of relief, finding more catharsis than he ever had at the meetings he went to, because it makes such a difference to be telling it to someone who's interested, someone who _cares_ , "—I came to associate the high of the Dilaudid with the pain of sticking myself with a needle, and—" He pauses, swallows, shakes his head. "I came close."

> **05.** _[nathan]_  
>  (instrumental)  
>  **— the knife; wanting to kill** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?mc5db7751h54d1w)]

Nathan can't stop calling him 'Dr. Reid', at first, the name falling from his lips out of habit, out of respect, out of admiration—and he senses Reid's agitation every time but he just can't _stop_. He's talked to countless therapists over the past few years—sometimes he thinks of that first evaluation with Agent Gideon and the white-haired man sitting listening in the corner and he remembers how nervous he felt, how uncomfortable, how fucking _hard_ it was to voice the terrible thoughts running through his mind—and now he's so used to it, he thinks he's better at talking about his homicidal urges than he is at having normal human conversation.

And so it's mostly what he talks about, these days, with Dr. Reid. It's harder than he thought, being out of the institution. Being shut up in that building, he had no choice but to keep himself under control, and he forgot what it was _like_ to be free to roam the streets at night, to meet temptation at every corner. It's like nothing has changed. His Mom still works night shifts a lot, making it easy for him to stay out all night, and he finds himself walking and walking like he used to, ending up where the prostitutes hang out like he used to, _watching_ them like he used to—like nothing of the extensive psychological rehabilitation he's had has made the slightest bit of difference.

Until he starts walking right on past and ending up at Dr. Reid's apartment, instead. Until that becomes his goal, each night, until he starts bypassing the back alleys altogether in favour of quicker routes. Because lying in that bed with the warm safety of another human being beside him, who _understands_ him—that's better than any therapy he's ever had.

> **06.** _[reid]_  
>  and this is fucked up, fucked up  
>  this your blind spot, blind spot  
>  it should be obvious, but it's not  
>  (...) i don't care what the future holds  
>  'cause i'm right here and i'm today  
>  with your fingers you can touch me  
>  **— thom yorke; black swan** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?bp8urr71w11s1bu)]

Reid knows he should not discuss cases with Nathan. At the very least, it's against the rules—he should not discuss cases with _anyone_ outside of the bureau—but when Nathan's interests and desires are factored into the equation, it becomes much more dangerous. He risks fuelling Nathan's fantasies, at the very least; at worst, he is giving him ideas.

But he's never really had anyone to talk to before, not like this. Not someone uninvolved, but so interested. And it's nice, in a way, to talk it through, whatever stressful events the day has thrown at him. At first, he shies away from the specifics, but they start to slip out, and he finds himself recounting gruesome murders in whatever level of detail he can bear to reach. It's easy, surprisingly so, lying there in the dark in his own bed staring at the ceiling—he could almost pretend he's talking to himself, like it doesn't even matter because there's no one here to hear him. 

Only then the speed of Nathan's breathing increases and Reid feels the shift beside him, the uneasy movement as Nathan resettles himself in bed. Reid _knows_ Nathan is excited, but he can't bring himself to stop.

Sometimes, Nathan is the one who shares too much, the one who's all gory detail and sickening mental image. Sometimes, when he whispers "Dr. Reid?" into the darkness and Reid does not respond, when Nathan isn't sure if he's awake or not and starts talking anyway, just for a release, he talks about what he wants to do, what he _can't stop thinking about doing_. And Reid stays silent with his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers digging into the mattress and he wants, wants, _wants_ to hold Nathan close and tell him _no_ and tell him _stop_ and teach him what it's like just to feel somebody in your arms, what it's like to feel someone's heart beating beneath your fingers without wanting to tear it right out.

> **07.** _[nathan → reid]_  
>  some nights i thirst for real blood  
>  for real knives, for real cries  
>  (...) and i don't want to hear you say  
>  it shouldn't really be this way  
>  'cause i like this way just fine  
>  **— okkervil river; for real** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?jkey7mb63uj21jn)]

"It hurts, sometimes, like—physically," Nathan says, voice hushed and quick, the words a guilty blur, "like when you want something so _bad_ you can feel it, like, inside, in your heart and your veins and your blood—"

He's speaking without really thinking, because once he starts thinking about it he gets too guilty to say _anything_ , and god—talking helps, talking really helps. If he's not talking, it's all just locked up there in his mind and he can't cope with that. He went years like that, only letting it out by writing about it, masking it in fiction and sometimes masturbating to his sick sick thoughts when he just couldn't help it, and—it was like torture. It feels so much better for it to be out in the open, especially when the person across from him isn't silently judging him, thinking he's a complete freak. Dr. Reid understands. He doesn't understand what it's like to lust for murder, but he's had this want, this desperate all-consuming want that's more of a _need_ , for something he should not have.

"—and it's like it feels inevitable that you're gonna give into it, only you can't start thinking that way because that's like you're giving in already, like that just makes it—what is it—a self-fulfilling prophecy, like once you accept you're gonna do it then you have no choice _but_ to do it, and—" Nathan stops, takes a breath, hears it shaky, feels it rattle his ribs. "Do you—do you know what I mean?"

Reid is quiet—he always is, picking his words carefully, never sure how much he wants to admit to Nathan or even to himself. But then he nods, and says, "I do. God, but I do."

> **08.** _[reid → nathan]_  
>  your heart starts skipping steps  
>  so you're farther gone  
>  than you might expect  
>  if your thoughts should turn to death  
>  gotta stomp them out  
>  like a cigarette  
>  **— bright eyes; down in a rabbit hole** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?quzc33cg3lt85z5)]

Nathan can't tell what's better: to allow himself to think about it, or to try and cut himself off mid-thought and distract his own mind. The latter is what most professionals recommended—replacing his 'bad thoughts' with 'good thoughts', bringing a completely different idea to the forefront of his mind. "It could be something as mundane as what you're going to have for dinner that night," one therapist had suggested, and it was at this point that Nathan began to lose faith in the system, started to accept that none of these people really understood him at all. He tried it, tried _hard_ for a long time and still does, on occasion, but it never works. It's not as easy as pasting one thought over another; the human brain isn't as simple as that. Thoughts manifest themselves in the background of other thoughts, grow from tiny seeds into tall trees in the blink of an eye and then it's too late. You can't uproot them.

But, if Nathan accepts himself, if he stops trying to fight it—that's giving in, and that's dangerous. There are others as sick as him, others who _accept_ their sickness, who no longer feel guilt or shame or regret. And he won't allow himself to become that. He can't.

Reid understands better than even the best therapists Nathan has talked to, which doesn't particularly surprise him. But he still doesn't have the answers. Nathan is beginning to realise that maybe there aren't any. Maybe there's no way out. 

("You've been down this route once before," Reid reminds him, upset and urgent, "it's not the answer." But Nathan has tried other options since then, with no success.)

Perhaps the only possible outcomes are: he kills somebody else, or he kills himself. It ends in death either way, and he will be tormented by his own mind until he reaches the conclusion.

> **09.** _[nathan]_  
>  god loves a murderer  
>  because there is so much sin to forgive  
>  **— david thomas broughton; so much sin to forgive** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?xlsntdfmxesffyb)]

Reid got help for his drug addiction; he did not get help for the trauma associated with what gave him the addiction in the first place. He does not talk about that, but it doesn't mean it's not in his mind. It lurks in the shadows, and Nathan wants to bring it out.

These things, they talk about only when it's dark, when they're in bed, when they're _tired_ and the conversation will seem almost like a dream the next morning. Reid talks staring at the ceiling, but he knows that Nathan is turned over on his side, curled in on himself and watching, trying to make out the expressions on the indistinct shape of Reid's face in the dark.

At first, Nathan is curious about the psychology. He did not know that multiple personalities really _existed_ ("It's called Dissociative Identity Disorder," Reid corrects him without thinking) and is fascinated to hear of the way Tobias Hankel would switch, sudden and seamless, from one person into the next. He wants to make sense of it; asks how Hankel could explain the fact that hours would go missing from his life, asks how he could really be unaware of the things he was doing when he believed he was somebody else.

Then, he asks why Hankel thought Reid was a sinner. Then he wants to know what Hankel did to him, and Reid knows he should not tell him but he _does_ , because it's been long enough now, because he needs to be able to say it out loud, because keeping it shut up at the back of his mind hasn't helped him one bit so far. And _god_ , it's a relief, much more than he could have anticipated. The words come pouring out of him, and his voice only wavers when he notices the way Nathan's breath hitches and a heavy sort of tension settles itself around them.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," Reid says, voice hushed.

"No," Nathan snaps, quick and sharp and desperate. "No. Go on. Please."

Nathan is excited, _furiously_ excited, thinking of Reid helpless and hurt, tied to a chair and whipped and beaten and drugged against his will, and Reid feels disgust roiling in the base of his belly but he can't stop talking, because the relief he feels from finally voicing his suffering just simply _outweighs_ it. (And maybe, somewhere, there's a little bit of a thrill at producing this sort of reaction in somebody, but he won't acknowledge that, he won't he won't he won't—)

Nathan stops him abruptly, disappears into the bathroom for four minutes and thirty eight seconds that Reid _counts_ , lying there stock-still on his back and feeling something twisting deep inside of him. When he hears Nathan's feet padding their way back to the bed, he rolls over. He faces the wall, shuts his eyes tight, and pretends to be asleep.

> **10.** _[nathan]_  
>  i'm not always like this, it's something i become  
>  a terrible weakness, in my nature, in my blood  
>  save me, oh save me  
>  save me from myself  
>  (...) don't blame me, don't maim me  
>  i can't help what i am  
>  **— imogen heap; glittering cloud** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?cso5s5t75c51mab)]

Reid saved Nathan's life, when Nathan did not want to live. But then—maybe he did, on some level, maybe he was too scared, maybe that's why he gave Reid warning and left Reid's card out. Or maybe it was less about wanting to live and more about wanting Reid to save him. He wanted Reid to know just how bad it was. He wanted Reid to know he wasn't just another puzzle piece of an easily-solved case—they can save the potential victims, they can catch the murderers, but where did Nathan fit in? Potential murderer, put away in a mental institution instead of a prison?

It wasn't conscious planning. He talked about it with therapists, later, and they latched onto it—the way he'd reached out for help, alerting the young FBI agent to his issues and then trusting the team to do their work and find him. It was a good sign, everybody said, a sign that he didn't truly want to hurt anybody, that he wanted to solve his urges rather than give into them. And one doctor drew a parallel between this first event and Nathan's suicide attempt, said that leaving Reid's card out was another, more subconscious effort to bring Reid back to him, because he didn't want to die.

It makes sense, in a way, but when, after years in the institution, he was still thinking about Dr. Reid almost every day and planning to see him when he got out and envisioning all the different ways the meeting might go—he realised maybe it was never about life and death after all, just about _him_.

> **11.** _[nathan → reid]_  
>  if my vices are a burden  
>  please don't let me off  
>  cast me from your home  
>  (...) it's getting hard to keep pretending i'm worth your time  
>  **— yeasayer; madder red** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?4i6m9qmi3b5g36h)]

Nathan is aware that this cannot last forever. It feels as though they're both fooling themselves: when he shows up at Reid's door, now, he no longer babbles explanations and excuses, and Reid no longer bothers with the formality of offering Nathan the couch. Occasionally, they are entirely wordless—Nathan enters, and they only look at each other, and then he is following Reid into the bedroom, Reid's bare feet padding across the carpet (and he doesn't bother, anymore, to pull on a hoodie or some sweatpants or a robe, just answers the door as is, in the boxers he sleeps in) and Nathan undressing as he walks, leaving a trail of clothing across the floor as he goes.

They don't talk about it, don't try and explain it to each other anymore. Nathan doesn't try to make excuses for his needs and Reid doesn't try to make excuses for satisfying them. But each morning after, there is a hollow feeling in the pit of Nathan's stomach as he lies there listening to Reid get ready for work, or as they sit and eat breakfast and watch the news together. As Nathan leaves with him and they part ways at the subway station, or as he lets himself out of the apartment like he lives there, with the spare key that has gradually and without discussion become his own. 

Sometimes, he stays, because his Mom isn't going to be back until late or because he doesn't care anymore if she wonders where he is. He stays, and he pulls on a spare shirt of Reid's and he potters around the apartment, sits on the sofa all day reading Reid's endless supply of books. He reads about his own painful, life-affecting problems in neat scientific terms, and makes himself inventive sandwiches from the strange and sparse items in Reid's refrigerator.

Sometimes, he does this, because it's a way to cling on, because he wants to wrap himself around Reid's life and tangle himself up in it and never let it go. And sometimes, he wishes Reid would be a little bit more open with him, would _make_ him go if that's what he really wants, but—

On these nights, when Reid comes home from work tired and drained, and finds Nathan curled up on his sofa reading his books and eating his food and wearing his clothes—Nathan could swear he looks a little brighter, perks up just that little bit more.

> **12.** _[reid → nathan]_  
>  when you came back  
>  you killed me with a kiss  
>  like a glorious fight i wished i'd missed  
>  ah shit, guess i'm in love with the fucked up kid  
>  **— broken social scene presents kevin drew; fucked up kid** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?woa38cx8wy5zz1i)]

It happens like this:

A hard case; Reid withdrawn and empty from the horrors of recent work, and quiet, not sharing as much as he might, listening more than he talks. Too much effort spent on trying not to think, trying to keep so many thoughts locked down (and he bets Nathan knows how _that_ feels), and (as always) he can't fool his own mind. A hot night, and it all comes out in dreams, wakes him sobbing terrified into his pillow with a cool, tentative hand on the sweaty plane of his back—

"You were having a nightmare," Nathan whispers, and just like that it's all gone, the terrors in his mind's eye vanish in an instant and leave only the feelings associated—his pounding heart, his dry throat, the panic in his chest and thrilling through his veins.

"Yeah," he says, faintly, gulping. He rolls over unsteadily to look at Nathan beside him, eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out the boy's worried face. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I woke you."

Nathan shakes his head. He looks fixated on something. "It's okay," he murmurs. His hand reaches out again; Reid feels it small and cold on his own chest, feels his heart thud-thud-thud against it. "Are you okay?"

Reid thinks Nathan likes this, likes to be the stronger one for once instead of the one needing comfort and reassurance and looking after. Maybe he likes Reid's fear, too, for reasons too dark for Reid to consider at this time of night—something is changing in Nathan's face as he feels Reid's heartbeat, as he looks into Reid's eyes. Reid starts to respond, opens his mouth and doesn't know how he's going to answer the question but it doesn't _matter_ , because Nathan's mouth cuts him off instantly. He clutches at Reid's chest as he kisses him, fingernails digging into the skin, and right now Reid does not have the self-control or presence of mind to resist. 

He gives in easy.

> **13.** _[nathan → reid]_  
>  i undressed you with my eyes  
>  i have maybe even raped you  
>  in the dark and eerie corners of my mind  
>  **— cocorosie; honey or tar** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?ji9ir4ttbqfzhxf)]

Nathan alternates between violent and tender, aggressive and timid, never quite able to keep himself completely under control. There is something animalistic in him that breaks from its restraints when he has Reid close, overcome with power and hunger and need, and he is biting and clawing before he's even aware of what he's doing. He catches a glimpse of torn clothing or scratches across skin, or registers his own hand around Reid's throat, feeling the frantic throb of a pulse against his fingers, and he goes immediately slack and gentle and sorry, mumbling apologies.

It's scary how easy it is to lose control like that. He hardly notices.

The worst part is how scared Reid gets—he knows he tries to cover it up, but Nathan can see the fear in his eyes, pupils blown wide and worried, and he can feel the way Reid shudders under him and his fucking heartbeat always much too fast. And it makes it just that much harder to calm down, to draw back and catch his breath and go slow.

It also makes Reid far more likely to make it _stop_ , and Nathan is always so painfully aware of that, because Reid is too smart for this and Reid does not take such risks like this and Reid will come to his senses any second—and Nathan cannot stand it. It makes him want to take what he can while he still has the chance; all greed and desperation making him wilder, making it worse, sending him into a spiral—a vicious cycle that he doesn't know how to break.

> **14.** _[reid → nathan / team → both]_  
>  yeah, your mouth is a gun  
>  (...) i really think we did the best that we could  
>  **— broken social scene presents kevin drew; gangbang suicide** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?vp851r2868lf1ns)]

The team approach the topic in different ways. Reid knows they're going to say something before they do, and they probably know that he knows—it's just how they are. Garcia is the first. Something makes her take him aside before the others arrive one morning, and say, "Reid." Just that. Just his name, twice, and he can't quite look her in the eye. And then, "Reid. Baby boy. No."

She knows. The others might wonder, might touch upon it as a theory, but Garcia _knows_. In a strange way, it's like she's always known—she was there, after all, when Reid was straddling Nathan in a panic and clutching at his bleeding wrists and wanting to breathe the life back into him. She was there; she saw the desperation in him. She's the one who, early in the investigation, reminded Reid that Nathan might be their unsub after all, and saw him ignore it and go on looking after the kid anyway.

Of course she knows. Sometimes, Reid thinks she's a better profiler than any of them.

Prentiss is sly, careful, testing the waters. "You still seeing Nathan Harris?" she asks one day, faux-casual as she pours him some coffee. She's careful not to put any stress on the word 'seeing', letting Reid interpret the question how he chooses.

"Sometimes," Reid shrugs. He doesn't bother to explain himself. It seems easier to say as little as possible, but his hands shake and he spills his sugar and the look in her eye tells him she knows, too.

Rossi says nothing, not with words, but there is an air about him, half-concern and half-judgement, that Reid senses and does not quite know what to do with. JJ looks pained somehow when their eyes meet these days—she and Morgan are worried, of course, and (he thinks) somewhat hurt beneath it all, hurt that Reid has chosen Nathan of all people to share himself with like this, to confide in and open up to and be _vulnerable_ with. (And what does that say about him? That he has chosen a potentially homicidal teenager over his own friends?)

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Morgan says, brow furrowed, hand broad on Reid's shoulder. "You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't talk."

Reid flinches at the choice of words. "I talk."

Morgan looks doubtful. "Just make sure you're talking to the right person, all right, kid?"

And Hotch—Hotch is all business; he does not skirt around the issue or get overly emotional. He calls Reid to his office, shuts the door, leans back against his own desk. Rubs his forehead with the back of his hand and sighs.

"There's nothing I can say. You know this is a bad idea." A pause. Reid doesn't bother pretending not to know what he's talking about. "I can't stop you. As long as this doesn't interfere with your performance here, it's out of my hands." Another pause. He is visibly stressed, and it makes Reid uncomfortable. He fixes Reid with a look, sincere and suddenly open. "Be careful," he says, finally, like it spills up out of him, emotion overriding professional concern. "I trust you know what you're doing. But you need to be careful."

Reid nods, slow, thoughtful. "I know, sir," he says in a small voice, and then, so faint he almost doesn't say it at all, "thank you."

It's the first time he's acknowledged it, really, truly, properly, to another person. Hotch nods back at him, expression at once grave and gentle. Reid is dismissed.

> **15.** _[both]_  
>  you're the only one i've noticed  
>  of all the people i've been past  
>  i will always listen to you  
>  losing battles in your mind  
>  (...) you help me feel a little less strange  
>  **— the dead weather; i feel strange** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?po8hw4stgityazh)]

One night, lying in the dark, neither of them able to sleep but neither of them acknowledging it, Nathan's voice rings out sudden and clear. "Will it get better?"

And Reid's heart breaks a little bit, because how can he answer that? How can he tell Nathan that it will, simply because that's what he tells himself, what he wishes and hopes for but has no basis in reality and fact? And how can he tell Nathan that in all likelihood nothing will change, that he's reached adulthood and his urges aren't waning so they probably never will, that he's doomed to live with this for the rest of his life?

"I don't know," he says in the end, his own voice coming out shaky and uncertain in the warm comfort of the darkness.

Nathan shifts, turns on his side, curls up close to Reid, his lips against Reid's shoulder. "You make it better," he whispers.

It seems so simple, like something Reid should have figured out, but it still comes as a surprise, and he lies there in silence a moment, unable to resist the quiver of his lips breaking into a smile. He knows how Nathan feels.

> **16.** _[both]_  
>  flashed up in my wildest dreams  
>  the dark red bloodstreams  
>  stretching out like vast cracked ice  
>  the veins of you, the veins of me  
>  like great forest trees  
>  pushing through and on and in  
>  **— snow patrol; lifeboats** [[♫](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?40tpv9cfwe6v632)]

It takes a long time, but eventually, Reid learns to stop blaming himself. He has made some bad decisions, but he starts to feel as though he had no choice. As though right from the start, this was all predetermined—and he's not one to believe in that sort of thing, in fate and destiny and his life's path written out in the stars or his palms. But when it comes to Nathan, it's different.

He saved his life, after all. They could not walk away from each other after that. Sometimes, he thinks this could not have gone any other way.


End file.
